Perhaps there is no knowingIn the pixels of the selfPerhaps their instant death upon the screenReflects a part of meI shedHave seenHave beenAnd don’t want to repeatThey’re now out-dated and out-felt

All we have to do is make a click againTo see what’s next up on the screenTVInternetForget the radioForget the books my parents readThe solid word is deadAll around us many different headless voices flowBut word-soddenIs it any wonder,I’m not sure which wayMy body blows

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